Silver Tears From Heaven
by Potok
Summary: What happened to Christine before she met the Angel of the Opera? What happened to her father?
1. The End of the Beginning

The Secret Beyond a Dark Soul - Silver Tears From Heaven

_Summary: In Christine's point of view as and before and after she meets our famous Angel of the Opera..._

Prologue: A Voice

"Did you know, Christine, that waterfalls are crystal tears that run until the earth stopped crying?" Somewhere in the distance, from the inner expansion of my sorrowful mind, beyond the constant cry of pain, distress, and agony, through the beating pressure of my burning thoughts, a voice, so secluded yet as pure as water, led me through the darkness. That influence was like a firecracker in the mist of a black night, as tender as the touch of still water, but as tough as a wave in an ocean- it was Father's innocent, sweet, and secure voice.

I longed to hear that energy blended with warmth and love. I yearned to reach out in the shadows one night and grasp that beauty, that secretive entrance to the serenity in my mind. But all of that peace had been torn away and now lay limp, as dead as Father.

Chapter 1: The End of the Beginning

As sweet as honey, yet as enchanting as a lit candle amongst a dark dungeon, my father would enlighten my day with some attractive quotes, riddles, poems, rhymes, and even songs. We would sit by the firelight on one gray and gloomy day when the distant clouds loomed above towering plenty of feet in the majestic sky. He would speak as I would sit and wonder living in half dream, half reality. It would seem as if the riddles themselves were speaking to me, as if the sea of imagination flowed straight from the depths of the banks of secrets, pouring with beauty and desire, flooding any evil creature, swimming directly into my mind. As tender as a gentle breeze, these sensations would grow and live within me, granting me strength, luring me deeper and deeper within the vast expanse of their fantasy.

"The shadow of an angel,

beneath my grasp.

Positioning of the phoenix,

breathing strength at last.

Pits of sorrow;

those eyes,

glistening heavenly,

burning with lies.

Each rung is beauty,

on the latter to love,

he guides me there,

high up above.

The angel sees,

The angel knows,

The angel looms above; beyond,

The angel rises and grows.

Growing with love, with hope,

despair,

Intoxicated of determination, beauty,

Malevolence beware."

I remember he would sit behind the crackles of the blazing fire in the dimness of that light, and stare back at me with vivid, reflecting eyes; blue and almost omniscient, like two oceans held within his marble eyes. Then, he would speak the tales and different stories passed down through family generations. As he would reveal the secret stories to me, there would be a deathly silence as if time had paused for his ingenious stories, letting him confront and entwine present with past. Slowly and gracefully, thoughts would dance in my mind and show me a passageway where the feelings in the legend took place. Only when he finished did other sounds return to my awaiting ears, and vision brighten once more. I cannot forget those endearing and elegant poems for they still speak to me over all this time.

More than five years ago, when I was about four, I brought myself to the back of the locked, wooden door and overheard my parents hollering, drumming hideous words at each other.

"If you keep telling Christine these ridiculous riddles and stories about useless topics, then she will begin to believe that they are true if she has not yet done so!" Mother's voice screeched with raw rage.

"I see nothing wrong with believing these stories. They bring her to different worlds, exposing her to diverse cultures and senses."

"But the problem is that those stories you tell her are fiction! Fake! I don't want her to live in a dreamy world with only you and your misleading rhymes to tend to her."

Everything after that chain of reprimands was forgotten, flowing like a dead leaf down a quiet river, swallowed amongst the deep and dark forests ahead. Yet the feeling of betrayal remained in my soul and protruded out of my fury like a nail that was not hammered in the correct spot. I believed in those stories. Nothing would change that…hopefully.

I wept silently as the warm, reassuring cushion of belief burned in my soul like an overcooked marshmallow scorching above a fire of lies.

Words are nocturnal to the outer world, but alive and breathing in my mind. Songs are tranquil creatures within my world of imagination. Familiar, yet distasteful, for I knew that cloaked behind a fake wall of deceit, the truth at last emerged telling me all of the beautiful stories Father had once spoken to me were fables. Fables are distrustful poisoning to the soul.

The garden beyond our home was quiet with a hint of sharp winds. I ascended the nearby hillside and looked deep into the moonlight above me. The leaves in the outstretched trees shined as if they were made of metal as I moved toward the familiar immense gate of the garden. Twelve stretches high, gargoyles poised viciously as I entered the vast gray entrance to this second world.

Silently, but beautifully, the flowers would flash their petals to the blinding moonlight, whisper in the breeze, and add life to the brumal ground. Father told me all living things have a mind of their own. "Everything alive had feelings and senses just like us humans," he had whispered. I believed in this sanctuary as a heaven full of different lives.

Around me, I could identify plenty of plants: orchids, tulips, roses, different berries, and bright purple lilies. Some flowers glowed luminously in the light of the moon while others stood noiselessly beneath the eerie shadows of the trees. I moved quietly around each bushel of flowers and recalled that they could sense my presence. As I squatted down to gently brush the side of a petal, a call came from behind the corner of the house.

"Christine!"

I squinted my eyes well enough to make out the tall, slender figure of my father's shadow nearing the bend. He sounded calm, but had an edge to his voice.

As swift as the chilly wind, another dark shadow darted across the yard area where Mother and I would sit with the campfire blazing throughout the black air. The shadow strayed from my view, but a strange sensation aroused in my fingers. Suddenly the skinny tips of my fingers began to numb and I held my breath as I could clearly hear an eccentric reverberation and I thought my heart had stopped. Father was screaming, "Run away, Christine!"

As I brought my shivering body around the side of our wooden cabin to peek at the trouble, a pair of thick hands in red silk gloves grabbed my shoulders rather roughly. I kicked and struggled for my life, but I was only ten years old and this man wrapped in red royal silk seemed to be older than Father. The white hawk upon his shoulder soared and glided out of sight as I yelled with all my might.

At the sound of my squeaks, Father sprang directly to his feet. First I heard the click of a pistol and next the thunderous crack of its bullet. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground and I could see the shining black raven-colored hair on top of Father's head near me. His hair shined like a slick, alive gem under the moonlight. He, however, lay as still as the sky.

After a while of staring at his motionless figure with tears flowing from my eyes, I strenuously heaved his amazingly light body into the rock grave next to Mother's coffin. With wet rivers of tears racing down my face, I took my last look at my father before closing the lid of the smooth granite coffin.

Inside the house on the left wall was the alluring blue bow in which Mother had stolen from a on her mission to the metropolis in Germany. The sharp edge of the long and skinny arrow had been propped neatly on the wall beside it. I grabbed the two pieces and darted out the front door.

Quietly, I hovered over his new grave and shut my eyes tightly as I wept alone with only the moon's shadow to observe me, guide me, and be my companion. Clouds hung above me and blocked the moonlight as if they chose to help the murderer escape unnoticed by anyone. As if there were anyone to notice him...


	2. The Taste of Sorrow, The Smell of Vengea...

Chapter 2: The Taste of Sorrow, The Smell of Vengeance

The smell of saltwater clung to the misty air the night I sprinted away from home, from my old life, from Mother and Father. All of my hopes and feelings were tangled in a mess as I ran. The only thought that was driving my legs to get as far away as possible was the fact that I was alone. That single thought drove my legs, washed my mind of all happiness, and drugged my striving spirit with grief. It was calm out here in the tropical rainforest of Paris; all tranquil and silent. Nocturnal creatures of the night were bouncing and darting out of my blurred vision as my long, clumsy legs dashed through bushes and tall weeds. The trees, tall, dark, and eerie, shaded the sodden path ahead as the bushes seemed to have laughed as they crunched away at every footstep I took.

With the stable guidance of the moonlight, I could hear and see a beautiful waterfall; crisp and clean, like silk running along the Earth's damp face.

"Everything has feelings including nature. Rain and hail are signs of sorrow, ponds and quiet lakes are pools of anguish, and clouds are tears held back, while the breezy wind whispers of melancholy. Sunlight is freedom; its heat bringing trust and comfort, the night sky sings a song of pure hope, while the stars wink their passion down to earth."

Beyond the waterfall, I glanced at a tall mountain with its peak dipped in snow. I remembered that every time Father and I could distinguish a sign of a mountain in the distance, he would calmly say, "I want you to be just like that mountain. I want you to grow to be as strong and powerful, yet have feelings of the sun and of water. Grow and be beautiful, have the strength of a waterfall, and above all, be yourself, for nobody does that better than you."

Thoughts were racing in my head as I gazed up into the moon once again. Just an hour ago, I had realized Father had left me and I will never hear those beautiful stories or songs again.

Once before, Mother had told me to look deep into the moon to see memories of the past and predictions of the future that lay ahead. And as live man has shattered the dreams of life within my vision, I could plainly see the gaping hole of those dreams in my mind- the moon's shadow…

Finally, the cloudy haze of thoughts began to calm until it was as clear as the waterfall. I needed some shelter and cover for this night and later I would find help close to Paris, or as I call it, The City of Light.

The night was as black as my thoughts, the clouds were the chains of my mind, and the half covered stars were happiness trapped behind my sorrow. Moonlight flowed all around me, filling the air, bathing the trees with silver. I ran from the waterfall and stopped short when my eyes widened as they came to rest upon a trail of lights. There must have been at least a score of people walking slowly, but excitedly. As their trail ended in a gathering, large dark colored tents propped up neatly in a clearing where there were barely any trees or bushes. This must have been their territory and campsite. I was not a welcome person.

Suddenly, a wind picked up, swift and quickly, like the man who killed Father. The candlelights were swept out as the shouts of men rose higher and higher. I stood a good distance away, about eleven stretches or so away, just so I could make out their shadowy figures in the ill lighting. Two tall men walked or wandered around, obviously drunk and subaltern. A strange-looking man circumspectly watched halfway in one tent and looked somewhat uncomfortable. Three beautiful white horses were asleep and properly tethered to a nearby post connected to the left side of a tent. Nobody seemed to be on guard.

Hungry as I was, I realized that my long blue cloak hid most of me and in the dim lighting, what were the chances of someone catching me? As quickly as I could, I felt my legs push off the moist ground, speed in a straight line towards the back of a tent, the hairs on my neck rise, my heart pounding like a hammer, and a strange sensation arising in my fingers...


	3. A Dark Dream

Chapter 3: A Dark Dream

First mist, then suspense, clear and pure, then the sensation of descending from atop cloud, falling, falling, finally plunging into deep dreams, darkness blooming in my vision. What was that? Cold seemed to be inclosing on every part of my body with a mixture of rapid, repulsive motions that I could not identify. It swirled around me, hugging closely, like a light blanket of gentle caressing. This feeling was new, a tender, yet vehement touch, a feeling similar to … the waves of a sea!

I shot my eyes open, pupils darting about, and squeezed them shut immediately after finding myself submerged in dark inky water. Opening my eyes once more, the thought of danger flooded through my mind as if it were part of the water that surrounded me. I struggled to swim to the surface of the water, propelling myself using my legs, feet, and wildly swaying my arms back and forth. The water worked against me, swallowing me in each of my attempts to get to the surface for air. By this time, my poor lungs felt as if they had been flattened under a heavy boulder. I thought to myself, "_Mon Dieu,_ I am going to drown!"

Again and again, I found myself in the dark water, the swirling black liquid that would swallow up my fate.

Just as I had given up on my future, a pair of voluminous, warm hands with an iron grasp had lifted me out of the darkness of the water. As my head left the suffocating water, I gasped and coughed for a breath of fresh air, like a fish hauled onto land. Every little noise seemed so loud, from the barely audible whistling of the wind, to the constant thunderous booming of the waves of the sea I had been in. Looking about for that pair of hands, I distinguished in the dim light a hand grabbing onto the rock I squatted on. Next came the other hand, and finally, a face, long and pointed slowly rose out of the dark liquid.

Midnight was falling upon us; the moon was liquid behind the trees. The man's eyes were hidden behind his white hood, and the rest of his face was of a deathly color. "We need to get to that rock!" he spoke slowly and with a slight slur, almost as if he had something in his mouth. I could barely make out the rigid, gray shape of the rock near the bank of the sea. The white foamy spray of the water blurred my vision as I inhaled deeply. Before I knew it, my arms were free of the rock I sat upon, my legs thrashing furiously about in the water, and my eyes shut so tight, it felt as if they would burst.

I was halfway down that truculent, forceful flow of water, when my left hand hit something hard- hard as a rock! Just at the same time, my eyes opened, flooded with water, and I felt a cold hand boost me from the depths of that sea. I was pushed upward onto the solid piece of land. It seemed a while before I could reopen my aching eyes, but then I saw the man in the water. My vision, which had swarmed before, now appeared as clear as day as I intensely watched that man swept among the waves, like a leaf easily carried downstream. I screamed and called to him without knowing what I had said. The breeze carried my words and everything- from the pounding sea, to the aggressive winds- seemed to blanket over my yelps. Even so, through that clamor, I heard the man so clearly as he spoke, "Gypsies… gypsies! Go now! _Go--_" And before the last of the words finally reached me, he was swept away by the hands of the waves and the mist of the winds.

I slowly walked towards the dense forest, and tried to recall what had occurred, but my mind kept replaying the vision of the man in the water and the secretive words he spoke. _Gypsies…. _I wondered if I was dreaming when he said that. Did he actually say gypsies? Then I remembered. I remembered everything so suddenly that my mind began to blink with questions.

What happened? My mind was able to redraw a piece of what might have occurred: I was racing to the back of the gypsy tent, the shouts of men echoing in my mind, as the trees faded slowly behind me. Hunger beat through my tired soul and I thought I could steal some food for myself.

The thought of food sent a wild gust of hunger dancing and spreading through me, stronger, and even more intense than before. Just then, I felt my foot sink into the ground and heard a splash. When I slowly lifted my soaking foot from the swirling dark liquid, I realized that this is the point where I probably fell. This quiet pool of water led straight to the river and waterfall. That meant that I was not far from the Gypsies!

More than before, I felt afraid. I groped through the tall plants and trees without glancing a moment back at the black water. I was unaware of where my legs were taking me, but my mind raced as well and I The darkness closed around me, swallowing every inch of my body and I began to see imaginary black shapes silently flowing by. My long legs pounded along to the beat of my heart.

"No more! I don't want anymore!" my voice echoed in the forest. Even my wavering voice seemed to be foreign, only adding to the other mysterious noises echoing throughout the silence until I heard a high and unbearable screech. I slowly stopped right behind a fairly large tree with its long branches shielding my face from the cool wind. When I glanced around the trunk of the tree in the direction I heard the scream come from, I vividly saw two gigantic and glassy eyes staring wildly back at me. The face was only two or three inches away from me when I fell to the floor shivering and frightened nearly to death. Its evil-looking eyes darted and searched me until my own eyes closed and I felt myself descend into a deep, dark, and unforgiving dream…


End file.
